


Dear Daniel

by VoxVocisCruora



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, Post-Phantom Planet, mentions of abuse, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoxVocisCruora/pseuds/VoxVocisCruora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He looked it all over, looking for anything funny or weird on any of its sides. But it was just a plain envelope. Normal cream paper, his name on the front in Vlad's looping cursive, the fold sealed with a pink wax seal engraved with a decorative VM. As far as the outside was concerned, it was just a normal, if a little testimonial to Vlad's ego, letter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Daniel

**Author's Note:**

> Oneshot fallowing the events of Phantom Planet, all S3 canon. Slight AU via headcanon. Vlad-centric.

The air was uncomfortably tight, and all of the Fenton family couldn't help but fidget. 9 O'clock sharp, they were told. They'd been here ten minutes early, and it was now 9:08; the coo-coo clock on the wall reminded them of that with every quiet tick. Maddie's hands, for once barren of gloves, held onto Danny's shoulders like a vice. Jazz simply sat with her hands in her lap, legs crossed, occasionally glancing towards her family to see if they were just as uncomfortable with the room as she was. Jack preoccupied himself with looking around the room. Danny alternated between picking at the hem of his shirt and looking around, sighing. It was too quiet, the walls too dull. None of them wanted to be here, not like this.

The door shut, causing the family to jump. All eyes turned towards it, the middle-aged woman in front of it frozen in their gazes. After a moment, she offered an apologetic smile, and made her way behind the desk at the fore of the room. She set her papers down, then took in the people before her. The second smile she flashed them was just a little _too_ tense.

“I'm for the delay, I really didn't expect to be held up so long. Thankfully, this should go by rather quickly; Mr. Masters was very thorough in his preparations and his decree is rather simple. It shouldn't take longer than an hour.” she said, her hands entwining together, “I am Hailey Whitmon, the executor of his will.”

“It's fine.” Maddie replied, however her grip on her son remained tight. She gave a curt nod towards the papers, “We'd really like to just get this over with, if you wouldn't mind.”

Hailey nodded, “Sir Vladimir Masters' will is simple, however the situation around him is.... _ **not**_ _._ The state has decided to distribute his estate due to the belief that he will not survive to return to Earth. As of today, he has been declared legally dead.  Naturally, due to the....situation that has led to these events, his history and his dealings are being investigated.” she continued, explaining. Her voice strained as she spoke. Weather it was because Vlad was dead or because of his catastrophic manipulation of the entire world, they family didn't know, nor care.

“Vladimir left behind a large number of assets and a phenomenal amount of wealth. I have already begun to take care of everything not concerning your family as decreed by his testament, however you're all involved with it, in part. Once everything has been cleared, and all that hasn't been seized in the possible revelation of foul play, will be released to his beneficiaries—err, _beneficiary.”_

Jazz tilted her head, a knit between her brows, “There's only one?”

“Yes, there is. Which is why I said you were all involved in part, ” Hailey replied. She looked down at her papers, “Vladimir's will states that in the case of his passing or otherwise prolonged absence of ten years, all of his estate should be passed onto Daniel Fenton.”

Danny recoiled like he'd been struck, gaping, “Huh?! Me?!”

Haily's lips twitched upwards at him, “Yes, you.” She returned her eyes to the papers, reading it off, “In further detail, Vladimir has arranged that his various properties, both commercial and privatized, scattered across the globe remain maintained but unavailable until Daniel Fenton's eighteenth birthday. In addition, while ownership of all eight of Masters' companies and corporations will be in Daniel's name, he cannot take control of them until he is twenty-one. Until that date, I, his former assistant and co-CEO, will act in his stead. In the event Daniel wishes to refuse ownership of any or all of Master's businesses, he may permanently hand it over to me, and I will be free to do with it as I pleases.

“Vladimir's wealth, totaling approximately eighty-five billion dollars, excluding value of his other assets, is to be completely opened up to Daniel on his eighteenth birthday. Until that date he will receive only $1,00,000 yearly. Masters' salary will continue to be gathered and deposited in what will become Daniel's bank account, given he now technically holds that position.” She raised her head and cast glances at the stunned look each Fenton wore. Jazz held her hand over her mouth and Jack's jaw hung slack.

“Oh my god.” Maddie deftly looked down at her son, part of her feeling rather numbed at this revelation. Danny didn't react, he simply continued to stare dumbly.

They all startled when Jack jumped up, laughing loud and giddy.

“Holy fudge, we're rich!” he boomed, a toothy smile stretching from ear to ear. He clapped a heavy hand on Danny's back, nearly knocking the air from his lungs, “You're gonna be worth more than _eighty-five_ **billion** _dollars_ , Danny-o! Think of all the ghost studying that could be done with that kinda cash! We could fortify the entirety of Amity Park from ghosts! You wouldn't have to work so hard to hunt them anymore, and there'd _still_ be _**billions**_ left over!”

“I'm afraid that won't be happening for a few years.” Hailey stated, drawing everyone's attention back to her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, “Vladimir has left specific instructions to forbid the senior Fentons from any of his estate until Daniel's twenty first birthday, after which there are no stipulations as everything legally become Daniel's. In other words, Daniel cannot give any of you _any_ of his money until he is twenty one. And that's if he gets it in the _first_ place; it could be seized.

Jack visibly deflated, slumping back into his chair, “Well, that's a bit of a punch to the face....”

“Can you blame him?” Jazz asked, “In Vlad's mind, you wronged him, repeatedly, and he's a very bitter person. So this is really just his final way of keeping everything he built and made for himself out of your hands as much as he can.”

“But we didn't _do_ anything-”

“It doesn't matter what you did or _didn't_ do, all that matters about it was what Vlad thought was true. What someone thinks is their motivation for what they do and the choices they make. Vlad felt wronged, so he gave you nothing. He feels you're unworthy to what he had,” Jazz replied. She looked towards her brother, biting her lip, “But for him to leave absolutely _everything_ to Danny.....”

Hailey cleared her throat, “Vladimir has also requested that a letter be given to Daniel Fenton in the event of the execution of this will, however he states that this letter should be read in private and is thus for Daniel's eyes only.” she picked up an envelope from her papers, and held it out to Danny.

Danny was still much too stunned to say anything as he took the envelope. Elegant golden lettering glimmered up at him, forming his full name on the slightly bubbled front. It was a little heavy for a letter, indicating multiple pages were possibly held within. But as to what those pages could contain, Danny had no clue. Maybe it was secretly a bomb designed to wipe him out—he wouldn't put that past Vlad. The man's vindictiveness knew no bounds.

Jazz looked over his shoulder, “A letter? Why?”

“Not a clue, Miss Jasmine.” Hailey shrugged, then nodded to the side of the room, at a door. “There's a small room through there. It's not being used, if you're interested.”

Danny glanced at the door, nibbling his lip. He didn't really care about reading it privately, it didn't really make a difference when he told his friends and family everything nowadays. Nor did he really even care about reading it in the first place; whatever Vlad had to say wasn't important to him. However, he was unable to resist his suspicions. Unable to resist the idea that Vlad had planed all of this--the satellite, the asteroid, the 'failure', this will-- and that the envelope could contain useful information. Legally dead or not, Vlad was still _Vlad._ Looking back at his family, who were watching him with mixed expressions, he sighed and stood up. He really didn't have a choice about it.

“Thanks. I'll be back.”

Danny pulled the door shut after him, enclosing the tiny room into silence. It was just as stuff as the other one, only smaller. Danny's nose crinkled, the air smelled stale. He flopped unceremoniously into one of the faux leather chairs, holding the envelope up. He looked it all over, looking for anything funny or weird on any of its sides. But it was just a plain envelope. Normal cream paper, his name on the front in Vlad's looping cursive, the fold sealed with a pink wax seal engraved with a decorative VM. As far as the outside was concerned, it was just a normal, if a little testimonial to Vlad's ego, letter.

Huffing, Danny flipped it over and pried his finger under the seal, tearing it open. Inside was nothing but a bulk of neatly folded pages, about seven or eight. Pulling them out and straightening them, Danny's brows momentarily furrowed at the sight of Vlad's handwriting.

He huffed, “Alright, Fruitloop, let's see what the heck you're up to with this.”

-o-oOo-o-

Dear Daniel,

If you are reading this, then I am gone, most likely by an untimely demise or disappearance. I've left you this letter in the event of my--probably--permanent absence in order to tell you a lot things I was unable to, most of which will be hard for you to take in. I've kept this information to myself because I never wanted you to know the truth. It's easier for you that way. But even so, part of me always wanted to tell you. That is why this letter exists, to tell you what I cannot bring myself to in life.

It is a secret I've kept for a while now, out of fear, and out of pain. I knew that you would never take it well. That is one of the reasons why I'm only telling you after I'm gone. Perhaps that makes me a coward, but that really isn't anything new. I've been a coward all my life, despite my best attempts to convince everyone, and myself, otherwise. Fear is a powerful force, as I know you are well aware.

That's the thing about memoirs, Daniel; you're not supposed to be around to answer for them.

You may take what I've to say in any way you desire, be it with vehemence, disgust, sorrow or just plain rage. You are free to hate me as much as you want; it is not like I'll be there to argue with you over it.

There is no easy way to say what I have to tell, so I'm just going to say it.

I'm your biological father, Daniel.

I have all of the paperwork and research locked in my lab, in my mansion, if you are interested in the proof. There are some preserved DNA samples there as well, in case you need a word other than mine. I know that my track record for telling the truth has been....rather lacking. But I have nothing left to hide, and no reason to continue to deceive you. There's no benefit to it when I'm dead, yes?

The fallowing is what information I've managed to put together. There are parts to the story that even _I_ don't know, details that I couldn't ever hope to pry from your mother. I could not ask her, as that would reveal that I knew and I'm not even certain _she_ does. It would have just made an incredibly uncomfortable mess for everyone involved, and despite my hunger to know, for _**answers**_ , I kept quiet. If you want to attempt to figure out the rest, that's your choice. You would most likely fare better than I.

As I know you are aware of, your parents and I attended college together for two years prior to my accident. During that time, there had been a few “flings” between myself and Madeline. These were mostly stupid party incidents and could barely even be called flings, and mayhaps I looked too far into something that hadn't been there inadvertently, but meh, details. After the accident, I was completely and utterly alone, and that hurt in so many ways, as I'm sure you already know.

I did not see or hear from either of them until 1989, when I ran into Maddie quite unexpectedly and accidentally in a club I frequented. She looked absolutely _gorgeous_ in her dress that night. She looks stunning in quite literally anything, but I will defend to the death my opinion that pink will always be **her** color, but I digress. I vaguely recall being surprised that she was drinking, I think, I hadn't known she did. At least I don't recall her ever drinking before. She was surprised to see me, at first, then happy, but our first attempt at conversation  went....poorly. She wanted to talk about what happened, and I did _not_ ; it was still much too soon for me. It'd only been two years after my escape from that _**hell-hole**_ of a hospital, and it still felt very raw. Perhaps your mother saw that and that's why she attempted to persist the topic, I don't know. Most of what I recall was my own irritation, so it's very possible that my emotions blinded me to any comfort or aid she might have been trying to offer. Perhaps, if I hadn't been, things would be different. 'What if' games are always so _painful._

The disagreement and tension of the topic caused us to both walk away from the other. But as the night went on, I continually kicked myself. I felt stupid. I had a chance to try to woo her, and I wasted it. At the time, I was not aware she had married Jack. She wasn't wearing her rings, and she was alone in Madison. She said nothing about it. For all intents and purposes, and for a severe lack of a better way to word it, I thought she was free game. That made my perceived blunder feel even worse, and I sought her back out to try to rectify my mistake.

Things went better the second try, though I feel I owe that to the alcohol. Naturally, this is where my memories become....unreliable. I can't even remember how many drinks _I_ had, let alone how many _she_ did. For the life of me, I can't recall what we'd even talked about before we left well past midnight. What I _do--_ sort of--remember was that she wasn't in any condition to drive; she stumbled and at one point she leaned against me so she wouldn't fall. I don't think I particularly was well off either, but at least my ghost-enhanced system helped. Maddie had driven there, I think I recall her mentioning a motel, and she attempted to convince me that she was okay enough to leave herself. She wasn't, and she knew it, because she accepted my offer to drive her back without a second argument.

The flirting started in the car. For all the vague and blurred recollections of that night I have, that is the one thing I am _**certain**_ of. Well, mostly.

I'm not sure if I might have accidentally started it—keeping one's tongue under control in front of a woman they love while inhibited is quite difficult. The rest happened so quickly, I can bare remember any of it. I am extremely remissed about that. But I feel I don't _need_ to remember the rest for the purpose of this piece. It's obvious what happened.

I woke up alone with a murderous hangover and a sluggish core. All I wanted to do was crawl into a quiet dark place and sleep. I didn't know where Maddie had gone, and at the time I couldn't bring myself to really care, so I left a note and some money in case she needed it, and I left. We'd exchanged numbers the previous night, so I waited a few days for her to contact me first, but she didn't. I called her, and while the conversation teetered on being awkward, I ventured to ask if she'd want to go out again sometime. She politely declined. I accepted this. I tried again a couple of weeks later, but again she denied. I....was perhaps a _little_ upset at this, and I admit that I tried to push, but she still denied. In hindsight, I realize she was uncomfortable during both calls, which aids in the explanation of why she reacted like she did the third time. She didn't take it too kindly. When she said no the third time, I was a little angry, and I might have said a few things I shouldn't have. She snapped, and yelled at me to leave her alone, that it had been a stupid drunken mistake. I didn't understand what her problem was, not yet at least. So I snapped back, not the best choice of action, and that is when she saw it fit to inform me of her marriage and your sister. It was like she wielded that revelation like a blade, and it certainly hurt me deeply.

Truly, what a _wonderful_ way to learn what had kept your _**dear**_ friends busy while pieces of your skin necrotized right off your body in a hospital.

And, that was that until the reunion. I admit I was angry at Maddie for what she'd done, but that anger just made the ache in my heart worse. That bitter anger was the reason I never tried to call again, instead attempting to prove to her I was better for her. It fueled my obsession. She was the reason I poured so much effort into building my financial empire, my image, my reputation. If only she could _see_ how much better I was, what she was missing out on, what I could give her, surely, _**surely**_ **,** she'd come back to me. That she'd realize I was superior. It was a foolproof plan....until it _wasn't_ and it backfired spectacularly. I still don't understand why. What does Jack have that I don't, what can he do that I can't? I have-- _had_ \--everything and more. I would have, and could have, given her anything she desired. I don't understand how it wasn't _enough_.

It's been a double whammy, too, given that I faced the exact same problem with you.

I did not think anything of you, when we first met. You were simply there, like your sister. Even after learning of our shared condition, I didn't really think much of you. Nothing seemed off about you, no possible clue to inspire doubt or curiosity or questioning. You were the typical naive teenager using his paranatural status to act out a fantasy or game about being a hero. The black and white perspective you held was ridiculous to me, too simplistic. And make no mistake, Daniel, that is still my biggest issue with you. You sort things into easy categories of good and bad, virtue and vice, and that is how you make your choices. It will have to fall to someone else to teach you things aren't nearly so clean or easy; with any luck it will not be a lesson learned the hard way. But I'm getting off topic.

Make no mistake, if I had thought about it harder, made the connection of the dates or something-- _ **anything**_ \--I would never have acted against you like I had.

I first noticed things didn't add up about you when I learned, ironically enough, about your accident. At first I brushed it off, due to not knowing exactly what happened. I'm by no means an expert in how to make a halfa, there is still much I haven't figure out even after years of studying myself and, in turn, you. But the more I learned about your incident, the more it _didn't make sense_. You were electrocuted by a very powerful machine. The rush of power in the initial start up, the force needed to first tear that hole to the Zone, should have _torn you apart._ The ectoplasm that came second should have caught your essence and manifested you instantly in a _pure_ ghost, a process that normally takes weeks to months to occur. I thought perhaps my theory might have been wrong, so I did calculations, and when they led to a dead end, I programmed and ran simulations. Every simulation I ran of your accident resulted in my first theory being correct: you _should_ have died. I couldn't figure out why you didn't. I tried every factor I could think of, poked at the variables. It  bothered me. The only thing that I found that could have saved you was if you already _had_ ectoplasm in your system. This wasn't a viable possibility, however. Your parents had no ectoplasm to work with until you turned on that portal. In hindsight, all of this makes perfect sense.

I discovered our relation when I started working on cloning. Miss Grey obtained many samples of your DNA after I imparted her with her hunting equipment. When I acquired the data and samples gathered from her numerous battles with you, they were put into my archive and automatically cataloged. A process my system does is to make connections between ghost's ectosignatures; child ghosts often share similar peaks to their parents, much like human alleles. The way it works is that an ectosgniture is a specific frequency of energy on repeat. It's integral to a ghost, equivalent to DNA. Signatures can be measured, like recording sound waves. Each signature has a unique set of peaks and valleys; match the pattern, identify the ghost. I use this to keep track of a very large number of ghosts and it was originally a pet project to make a signature map before it got out of hand. Regardless, the process remained, and it ran your signature. I didn't really pay much attention to it, I knew it wouldn't make any connections. Halfa signatures are blank, created from 'data' from our human DNA.

But to my absolute surprise, it did make a connection. _To mine._

I thought that the system had glitched, at first. It'd only ever dealt with my data, in regards to processing halfas, so I thought it might have defaulted somehow. But it hadn't, it accurately matched our signatures in a parent-child connection. I went over the data myself after the second match, and it was still correct. It didn't make any sense to me. I hadn't ever been in contact with you prior to meeting you after your hybridization, how could we have developed signature similarities, let alone enough for the system to match us?

Sometimes it's as they say: the answer to a problem is sometimes the simplest.

It was hard to _not_ think about **that** possibility. I tried, but I failed. Once it slipped into my mind, it made itself so _glaringly_ **obvious** that I couldn't help but want to see if it was true. It pointed out things that I hadn't given a second glance to, brought up memories I tried to quell, the things about you that refused to make sense. Pieces fell into place far too uncomfortably well. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

I _needed_ to know. I couldn't not. It was physically impossible for me. So I analyzed our human DNA against each other, and prayed to a God I don't believe in I was wrong.

The universe takes pleasure from my suffering, I've come to realize.

Our alleles matched verbatim. I outsourced to a third party company, had them run it too, but it came back the same. I was forced to accept the fact that we were genetically connected, biologically parent and child. Even now as I write this, it feels.....odd. A little disconnected, foreign, if that makes any sense.

I suppose that you might think this should have been a gleeful revelation for me, given your side of things. But you'll be content to know that it was _not._ It tormented me, made me feel ill. Made me hate myself.

The implication that I've been hurting my own son was not an easy one to swallow. It _hurt_ , more than anything else ever has. Well, at first. The fact that you hated me, _despised every part of me_ , and that that was entirely **my** fault, quickly became worse than it.

I felt disgusting. Horrible. _Inhuman._ The guilt, the self loathing, made me want to claw parts of myself off. I wanting to jump into a pit and burn. I felt like I'd crossed a line that can never be uncrossed, that I was the most horrible thing that existed.

I regretted everything instantly, and there was nothing I could have done to fix any of it.

I wanted nothing more than to seal myself away, but I'd already painted myself as a villain to you. I couldn't have stopped. It would have been suspicious of me to have stopped dead and heel-face-turned. I was stuck in my role, I couldn't back down. I felt I didn't have a choice. I was trapped between what I wanted but could never have, what I had to do but didn't want. I didn't know what else to do.

So I continued.

I swallowed my tongue, throttled my voice of reason, and pretended I didn't care. Pretended that my heart didn't clench when I saw the bruises on your neck in the shape of my fingers. That it didn't make me feel so sick hearing you bones break against the stones, the street. That the flecks of red sprinkling the ectoplasm seeping from your wounds wasn't mine. That none of it _**mattered**_ _._ That blood meant nothing to me. Lie after lie, it became a mantra that I couldn't stop repeating in my head and drove me to my wits end. Perhaps I've truly gone crazy from it.

Eventually, I resorted to hate and anger to bury my conscious, to make fighting against you easier. I blamed your mother, for never telling me and keeping you from me. I forced myself to believe that she knew, she did it to spite me, to hide her shame and preserve her perfect family life. I blamed Jack, for stealing you from me. For taking my role and doing what I should have had the chance to do. For being able to raise you, to know you. To love you. The hate and anger rose and boiled day after day like an inferno that devoured everything yet still left hungry.

But it wasn't _enough._

So I started blaming you too.

I blamed you for being a stupid child, getting in over you heard. Blamed you for being too stupid to do what was good for you. For fighting for, for believing in, something pointless. For refusing me, despite all that I could have, would have, given you. For forcing me to make hasty choices that ruined everything, for forcing me to need to hurt you because it was the only way I could have any semblance of a _connection_ with you. It was your fault, always your fault, you made me do this, you caused this. If only you weren't so naive, if only you weren't so stubborn, if only had accepted me, if only you weren't _so much like me_.

_If only you gave me an opportunity, an_ excuse _, to step back and tap out, because I just want to stop hurting you._

Anger, and hate, is kind of like lightening. It will strike, and it will be powerful, intense, _dangerous_. It can sustain you for a moment. But then it's gone, and all you feel is numb and exhausted. I don't know how much longer I can last. I don't want to do this anymore.

I did not mean to ramble in this. I did not mean to loose control. But I made an oath that I would not erase anything I wrote here and now. This is my truth, my only chance to tell my side of the story. But my personal self loathing and pain are of no importance to you; I know that you don't care for me and I don't want your pity. I've made my choices and I cannot undo them, no matter how much I wish I could.

I've done a great deal wrong against you, and I cannot fix that. I cannot repent for it, there's just too much. I've become someone I can't stand, and something worse in your eyes. But this is my memoir, my legacy, and while I can never hope to atone, the least I can do is give you everything I can. This is why you are the sole beneficiary to all I own. This is why I bequeath every ghostly artifact and all the splendor I've amassed to you. My reputation and my title. Everything is yours to do with it what you wish. Keep it, sell it, destroy it; it doesn't matter to me anymore, I'm gone. It is the only thing I have left to give you, everything you deserve and more. You are my heir, weather you like it or not. My legacy begins, and ends, with you.

There are just two things left I've to impart to you. The first is advice and a request at the same time:

_**Never**_ give in to hate. It will destroy you, in _every_ way. You are good and you are just, but I know that you are also easily tempted. Sometimes our desires get the better of us, our urge to strike back too much to resist. But I know you've learned that lesson about power and how you use it already, and I pray you never forget it. Stay true to yourself, keep your friends tight in each hand, and you won't stray. You have done so much for so many, even when you didn't have to. You're selfless and kind. Never let your morality corrode, and never ever let anyone take away your pride. You are a half ghost, you are strong, and you will change this world for the better. I know you will be okay.

The day that you loose yourself is the day that I will pry myself from death's crooked fingers and kick your ass because _dammit,_ _Daniel, you never listen to me._

And lastly, for what little it's worth to you, _I'm_ _sorry_.

Goodbye, Daniel. May life treat you well, and grant you every happiness.

Sincerely,

Vladimir Masters.

-o-oOo-o-

Danny stared at the last page of the letter, not absorbing anything it said anymore. His throat was clenched so tightly it hurt, and he couldn't swallow. His mind was frozen; numb. It struggled to catch up, to comprehend. The words ceased making sense yet they made all the sense in the world. He didn't notice how his hands shook, nor how his nails creased the paper. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Hot prickles of tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and they snapped him out of it. He sucked in a strangled gasp, screwing his eyelids shut so tight he saw stars. He shoved the letter on the desk, pushing it as far away from him as he could. He couldn't stomach to look at it any longer, couldn't stand touching it. The bile burned as it tried to cleave through his constricted throat. He would not shed tears for Vlad.

The man deserved what happened to him. He got what was coming to him. Nothing he could have said or done would have made Danny want to forgive him; not now, not _**ever.**_ Actions needed _consequences_ , that was how the world worked. Vlad _chose_ to do what he did. He made his choices and they were the wrong ones. This was the way things were supposed to be. Vlad **deserved** to be cast out, and Danny would  not sympathize for him.

Vlad was evil. A monster. A villain. That's what happened to villains; they don't get happy endings. They fail, they loose, they **die** _._

Danny would not cry for him.

This was karma. This was justice. This was **right**.

 


End file.
